


Aster for Your Thoughts

by Idonquixote



Category: Xī yóu jì | Journey to the West - Wú Cheng'en, 西遊 | Journey to the West (Chow Movies)
Genre: Allergies, Attempted Murder, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Misunderstandings, One Shot, yes all of these tags have a place in this story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 08:45:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17321741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idonquixote/pseuds/Idonquixote
Summary: Chen Xuanzang receives a gift. It's either from a secret admirer, or more likely, someone trying to murder him.





	Aster for Your Thoughts

**Author's Note:**

> I've actually had this idea cooking for a while. Finally decided to complete it! And I've written so much JTTW angst that it felt good to write a little fluff. I thought of making this a side-story to "From Here the Rain Falls" but having Wukong secretly bleeding to death puts a damper of the fluff, so this story's independent of that universe!

The view of lush woodland was a much welcome sight to the pilgrims from the east, especially after a trek through the Gobi of twenty-some days. They set up camp in a cave by a shallow creek, their only company squirrels and shrubs and the sound of Friar Sand's pots. And because they had walked so much and worked so hard (and also because his shoes were rubbed raw and his feet were as calloused as an old man's), Xuanzang deemed it appropriate for the group to rest. Nobody argued with him and Bajie's first instinct was to bathe in that creek, from hat to toe, all the way down because he never bothered stripping.

For his part, Xuanzang didn't want to do anything except sit and enjoy the shade. But he was rather hungry, so he turned to Wukong, who was hanging lazily from a tree, a twig in his mouth, and said, "Wukong, go find some food."

"Why? If we get hungry, we can just eat you." Then the monkey snickered at his own joke, a nasty little laugh that made Xuanzang turn red.

"Bad monkey, do what I tell you or else!"

Wukong rolled his eyes and hopped down. Shifting in his scarf, he went to where he left his staff and swung it into one hand. "Or else what? You'll use the Sodding Palm? Sing that silly song of yours? Why don't you do something different for once?"

 _That damned macaque!_ Xuanzang humphed and began to hum. Immediately, Wukong shoved a finger in his ear and said, "Alright, alright, you win, baldy! I'm going!"

Cursing, the monkey trudged toward the clearing, patches of grass sloping into a forest of yellow and pink. "And don't dawdle!" he heard Xuanzang cry from behind, a certain air of Sanzangese smugness in the monk's voice. Twitching, Wukong twisted his head. "Oh, shut up!"

"Is that any way to talk to your Master!?"

The monkey dismissed him with a wave of his hand, and he was gone.

* * *

"When's the boss coming back?" Wujing asked.

Fanning himself beside the fish, Bajie sighed. "This is the tenth time you've asked, younger brother. What, do you think he'll just show up if you ask enough times?"

"When's he coming back?"

"What did I just say?"

"When's he coming back? I need to cook! I can't cook without food- everyone knows that!"

"Oh? Who's everyone?"

"Your ass!"

Xuanzang would have found the conversation entertaining if he didn't have to deal with it at every hour of every day and night. Traveling with those demons was exhausting as it was, and living with them was truly a superhuman feat that only someone as patient, kind, and talented as himself could handle (not that he would say so because of his natural low-key humility). He walked by the pig and fish, hoping they would take no notice.

"Master!" Bajie said, "how can you let him get away with such course language? See how he attacks my honor!"

Xuanzang kindly clapped his hands together and said, "Wuneng, you have no honor. But-"

And something caught his eye, a little pile of red at the corner of the creek, pieced together too deliberately to have come naturally. Perplexed, Xuanzang approached, bending so he could see more clearly. It was a bushel of flowers, a fuzzy yellow at the center and surrounded with thin rouge, not unlike a lion's mane. 

"Master, look!" Bajie said, pulling the bushel up before Xuanzang could even touch one petal. "There's a note!"

The second disciple pulled a small scroll from a pinch of petals, and read aloud, "Elder Tang... this handwriting's rather poor... but who would send Master flowers in the middle of nowhere?"

"Maybe it's a threat!" Wujing called.

"Or maybe it's from an adoring maiden," Bajie said, smacking his lips, "someone with an hourglass figure and lashes as dark as night, yearning for a man to hold and put-"

"I'm sure it's nothing," Xuanzang said, a little blush creeping along his cheeks, "probably just a fan of mine."

"Who would be your fan?" Wujing retorted.

Xuanzang ignored him and pried the flowers from Bajie's hands. Not that he _had_ an ego, but if he did, it would be quite tickled by the anonymous gift, and they were a very pretty color. Red for luck, and if it had come from a malicious demon, the petals would probably have sprouted spikes by then. He sensed nothing wrong with the plants, which was rather strange. Xuanzang brought them to his nose.

"Lunchtime!"

The announcement had come from Wukong, the monkey landing by their camp, both arms weighed down by baskets of fruit, either generously donated, carefully picked, or more than likely stolen under threat of death.

* * *

Wukong crunched peaches the way he crunched walnuts, skin first, then meat, and let the juice splash across his chin. Those eyes stayed on the Tang priest. Bajie and Wujing watched the monk as well. Because Xuanzang was currently sobbing into his sleeve and sneezing up a storm. 

"Hey, is he thinking of that woman again?" Bajie whispered into Wujing's ear.

"Shut up," Wukong hissed at them both. Then, louder, he said, "Baldy, what's wrong?"

"I- I don't know- amitabha!- my face itches!" Xuanzang looked up and the disciples collectively gaped. His nose was swollen red, loose bits of snot oozing out, and his eyes were puffed pink, tears running down that agitated face. "Uh cunt 'reathe!"

Bajie pulled his brothers into a huddle, eyes all but shining as he said, low, "I think baldy's dying! This is our chance- let's go and let him die!"

"He's not dying, asshole," Wukong snapped.

Wujing broke from their huddle and as if struck by an epiphany, shouted, "Allergies!"

After another sneeze, Xuanzang pulled himself up and seething, cried, "Sum one's tryin' to kill me!"

"Kill you? The fuck are you on, baldy?" the monkey said.

But Bajie was quick to cut in- "Ah, that must be it! An assassin is after Master! Those might be blood lotuses!"

Wukong smacked the back of Bajie's head, and growled, "Those were Da Ding weeds, you idiot."

Xuanzang sneezed again.

"Boss, you know a lot about this. How do we fix baldy?" Wujing said.

And again, the monk sneezed. 

Nostrils flaring, the first disciple jumped up, Bajie whacked aside, and yanked Xuanzang away by the sleeve. Head downcast, he glared at the others and said, "How the fuck should I know. Wash his face or something."

"Wu-hong," Xuanzang mumbled, "save me."

"You're not gonna die, baldy!" And with that, Wukong dragged Xuanzang to the creek's side, sat him down, and gathered water into Xuanzang's hands. Monk and monkey splashed water up again and again until the pollen washed off.

* * *

"Boss."

"What?"

"Do you have fleas?"

Wukong ceased his scratching, nails still ruffling past his nest of hair, and shot Wujing a glare. The fish lay in a cocoon of dirt, Bajie by his side in a bed of dry leaves. 

"No, I don't have fleas."

"See?" Bajie said, "of course the boss doesn't have fleas."

"You told me to ask," Wujing growled.

Bajie laughed, loudly and fakely. "Of course I didn't! I would never!"

The monkey flipped his eyes and turned away from both. _Assholes_. He had been deep in thought and those two were doing little to help matters. Xuanzang was still by the creek, but his ears could no longer pick up sneezes, which told him the monk was in much better sorts. Not that Wukong cared. Except he did. He cared greatly. Muffling a groan, he left his spot by the campfire and wandered out of the cave, hoping night air would do him good. Instead, the moon shone down and he felt even worse.

 _Perfect. Thanks, Buddha_. For once, Wukong wanted to crawl under a rock and stay there, preferably for another five-hundred years. He bit, or rather, tore, at his lower lip, only stopping when he tasted blood. Maybe he could go apologize to the baldy while the others were asleep. Then nobody would know and they could all go on with their lives. Except Xuanzang would know. And he didn't know what was worse, the idea of Xuanzang knowing how he really felt, or the idea of Xuanzang not knowing, if he wanted to keep thinking Wukong hated him and was out to murder him. Then Xuanzang would hate him forever, and Wukong might as well go to Guanjiangko right now and ask Erlang Shen to finish the job.

_And thank you too, Three Eyes. You had one job._

"You had one job, bad monkey," he muttered, "and you fucked that up too."

He didn't even know what he wanted from this. Was Xuanzang supposed to forgive him for everything because of some flowers? Accept his peace offering? Forget that Wukong was the creature he hated most in the three realms? 

"Yeah, you did."

Wukong spun around, turning so fast that he choked on spittle when he saw Xuanzang standing behind him, lantern in hand. The monkey coughed for a few rounds before looking at the monk's face- his nose was still pink and the eyes a tad swollen, but other than that, the priest's skin was cleared and he looked himself once more. Not that Wukong found his silly face pleasant to look at in any condition.

"Master, how are you?"

"Much better. So I was thinking, bad monkey, that whoever sent me those Da Ding weeds really wanted to see me suffer."

"S- suffer?"

Wukong stepped back. Xuanzang stepped forward. "I mean, I don't hold grudges because I'm a magnanimous individual, but I think what this person did was quite cruel."

"Cruel?"

The monkey took another step back, but Xuanzang pursued, and soon, Wukong found himself backed against a tree, nose-to-nose with the Tang priest.

"Whoever sent me those flowers really hated me. Why is that, Wukong?"

He was close now, breath hot and near enough to touch the monkey's lips. And Wukong was frozen, fixed by Xuanzang's cool voice and the glow of that wretched light.

"Alright! I sent those to you! Happy, baldy? Fuck off!"

Xuanzang stepped back and smirked. "Thought so."

"I wasn't trying to kill you! If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead by now. You'd be dead and probably lying around in one hundred different pieces while I bathed in your blood." Wukong closed his mouth in frustration, that string of words having run out before he could take a single one back.

"Then what were you trying to do? Torture me?"

"No! I was-" He bit his tongue. What was he trying to do? And feeling dumber than the dumbest monkey in Huaguo, Wukong said, "They looked nice."

"You sent them to me because they looked nice? Really, you expect me to believe that?"

Wukong stepped up to Xuanzang, then, face so close the priest almost fell back. "That's what happened. _Take it or leave it_."

"Watch your attitude, bad monkey!" Xuanzang used his free hand to wrap a handful of Wukong's scarf. "Then why didn't you tell me it was you? Explain that."

The monkey wrenched himself away, too flustered to hide anything more. He looked to Xuanzang, a spot of hurt in his gaze, and said, "You wouldn't like them if you knew it was me. Now you know. Go to sleep, baldy."

Wukong cast his eyes down once more, feet already shifting away, when he felt a hand upon his wrist. Xuanzang's grip was not tight. But it was firm, and it told him not to move.

"They were beautiful," the monk said softly, "but Wukong, I..."

And here came the rejection he'd rehearsed a thousand times in his brain. The Great Sage Equaling Heaven, about to be rejected by a mortal man he could snap like a twig. The monkey didn't want to hear it, but found that he couldn't bring himself to leave.

Xuanzang spoke on, "I wish you'd told me. I know your handwriting and I was hoping it was you... before I sneezed."

Wukong stiffened, heartbeat racing and every sense telling him to run and run, to run before he awoke or this turned out to be some cruel prank of fate. Instead, he did nothing. He said nothing, as lost as a child while Xuanzang took his hand. His fingers touched the Tang priest's face, Xuanzang's palm over his own as the monk guided his fingers from cheek to cheek. 

"So you like me?" Xuanzang said, that smug glint again in his eyes, "the great Sun Wukong likes _me_?"

"Fuck you."

But it was the most loving "fuck you" Wukong had ever heard himself say. Later, they put the light out, and merely stood in the dark, tracing each other's faces with the other's hand. And Wukong shut his eyes because he did not need fiery eyes to see Chen Xuanzang.

* * *

In the morning, Bajie found another gift for Elder Tang, a beautiful swan wrapped in one red ribbon (which looked like a piece of cloth cut from the boss's sash). The swan then attacked Xuanzang and terrorized their camp for the rest of the day. And thus, the journey west continued.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading and kudos/comments are more than welcome!
> 
> This is my first monk/monkey fic of 2019, and I regret nothing. I was tempted to make them kiss, but decided against it in the end and try something else- hope it was fun to read!
> 
> *Da Ding weeds are Aster flowers AKA Gerbus dandelions


End file.
